As we read Lamentations we should cast our minds back over the epic story forged on the journey from Egypt to Canaan and fumbled through the eras of both Judges and Kings. It is the story of a promise to Abraham’s family that they would live in this land; a covenant with God himself that he would be their Suzerain, and they would be his people.

For Judah, then, to find herself in Exile, the walls of Jerusalem smashed and its holy Temple razed, is so painful an abandonment she can barely cry through the shame. It is her ultimate rejection, her bitter fascination, her endless indignity.

Thus the writer takes up the great Lament to Yahweh. Of course, like Jeremiah, he understands this disaster to be the very work of their Suzerain. They are not the victims of chance, nor simply left to the mercy of Babylon; they are the subject of Yahweh’s judgement. Yet, even then, like the disciplined child who cries on her mother’s arms, Judah finds the courage to weep in complaint to her God.

On the one hand, Lamentations opens to us the aching grief felt by the People of Israel as they faced a future without their Temple at Jerusalem and all the religious practice that went on there. This was not just an inconvenience; it was a violent restructuring of the essence of their faith.

On the other hand we have a window into the relationship between Yahweh and his people, through which we see deep questioning and fearful petition. The forceful dogma of Israel’s nationalism sometimes keeps us aloof from this fact: she genuinely believed that her Yahweh loved her more than any other.

Thus the Exile is the great divorce. Rejected for her indiscretions, how could Judah make sense of her abandonment, or understand her shame?

Being a lament in nature, Lamentations is not designed to answer such questions. Instead we are pulled into the painful heart of a broken people, crying out in their distress, in part to Yahweh, in part, like any griever, to the cold and unforgiving night. They retell together their story of demise, but not in terms of history. They are reliving their humiliation in terms of the psychology of their covenant relationship.

‘The Lord is like an enemy’ calls the reader (2:5). ‘Look, O Lord, and consider: Whom have you ever treated like this?’ (2:20) ‘He has broken my teeth with gravel; he has trampled me in the dust (3:16). ‘Streams of tears flow from my eyes because my people are destroyed (3:48).’

‘Yet’ says the writer, ‘Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed… it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord…for a man to bear the yoke while he is young. Let him sit alone in silence…For men are not cast off by the Lord forever…he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to the children of men.’ (3:21, 22, 26, 27, 31, 33)

This schizophrenic response is characteristic of Israel’s poetry: extreme disaster on the one hand and unswerving trust on the other. It is part of its genius, and indeed its power, that in their desperation the People of God could express their pain without constraint, yet resolve to keep faith in their violent Suzerain nonetheless.*

Where is our space for lament? This is a question increasingly asked in charismatic Christian circles, after a tradition of over-confident victory theology. But we should be wary of emulating Lamentations. Our New Covenant with Jesus does not promise national protection or military assistance. It does not even assure us physical or emotional safety on an individual level. What Jesus promises us is eternal life: life in the Kingdom of God. Our covenant-laments will be questions of progress and questions of truth, but for the benefit of the whole world, not just the church.

But perhaps there is a psychology of lament that we can learn from. Certainly British culture has traditionally preferred a terribly prosaic complaint to the poetic distress of this bare-your-soul song. To engage in lament may be to begin a cathartic healing process where the retelling of pain provides the freedom to then move on.

Postmodern culture by contrast has championed the freedom of expression. What Lamentations highlights is the power of the relationship for lament. It is the covenant relationship with Yahweh that enables Judah to still speak with hope even in her suffering. Theirs is not a song for self-destructive indulgence; it is a hymn for deliverance, found through fidelity to another.

Ultimately, Lamentations draws us into the insecure pathos of pain, a thorny path fraught with desperate questions. The concluding verses sums it up: ‘Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may return; renew our days as of old, unless you have utterly rejected us and are angry with us beyond measure.’ (5:21-22)

Questions for reflection:

1. Are you scared of truly expressing your emotions? If so, why?

2. Are you scared of commitment? If so, why?

* It should be noted here the necessary warning that Feminist readings of Scripture have given regarding the interpretation of themes such as this. Feminist readings ask questions of the text related to feminist concerns and thus, in return, receive responses which are often missed by other readers. Caution is given by Feminist readings to affirming Israel’s fidelity to her violent God, if this would lead to affirming that vulnerable women should stay faithful to violent partners. In such situations, women must be encouraged to leave situations of domestic violence and seek help with one of the many organisations who can provide alternative housing and holistic support in rebuilding shattered lives.